Story of Patience
by Kita Kudai
Summary: She was the Lost Colony of Roanoke. Her name was Patience. She knew she was dying and tried to convince England not to send Colonists to her land. Unfortunately, he didn't listen to her. No one ever listens to her but she was the one who knew herself best
1. Prologue

**Okay, so I decided to write a fic about the Colony of Roanoke. There are many stories about how the people there died so I wanted to write the tragedy of this failed Colony here. So in the story, Roanoke knows about her brother – America. I'm making it so that he is his own colony and she is hers. And it turns out she was there before he was so in all technicality she is his older sister.**

**Roanoke is trying to convince England to take the colonists out before tragedy strikes again, because apparently, there was more than one set of colonists on the island before they just gave up on it… She knows what happened before will happen again so she tries to convince Arthur as his human half to reconsider sending more colonists. **

* * *

><p>"I cannot agree to this," she said.<p>

England looked at the small five-year old in front of him. She was a pretty young girl with sapphire blue eyes. Whenever she smiled little dimples could be seen in the corner of her lips. She looked up at him, tilting her head to the side, ever so slightly, making herself look down-right adorable in England's mind but that was just his internal 'caretaker' kicking in. But she wasn't smiling as she looked up at England. She was wearing a little blue dress that England had gotten for her because he felt that the blue complimented her hair and he didn't have very many female colonies to dote upon. She was his only one at the moment. Her red curls bounced and shone in the light of her little cottage. The candles were going to need to be replaced soon. England made a note to send over more materials for candle-making for his little colony. She need not worry about trying to fend for herself when he was there to provide for her.

She acted much more mature than any other nation, or colony for that matter, he had met before. But perhaps that was to do with all of the tragedies surrounding her land and the many mysterious circumstances that she would tell no one about concerning what happened to her colonists in the first place. But then again, maybe it was that she couldn't say anything because the people she had represented were gone but she was getting new ones because he was seeing to it. She had already seen one set of his colonists die on her lands but there was nothing she could do to help them. They just vanished one day. It was strange but no one thought that it was her fault. They just thought the colonists didn't do what they needed to in order to survive. The little colony was never at fault for anything that happened. However, it was frustrating because she knew what had happened and yet she refused to tell England what had happened so he could prevent it from happening again.

"Excuse me?"

"You cannot send more people to my land," the girl said.

England raised a fine eyebrow as he stared at her expectantly. She was the first colony he had that actually spoke up to him, technically him as Arthur, not as him as the United Kingdom. She wasn't in a position where she could tell him what to do. In fact, no one could tell him what to do. He was the British Empire. He had colonies that he didn't even know what to do with. He had fought pirates off to protect the young colonies as well. He had been battling France and Spain for years and would continue battling those two for years more to come. And this little colony thought that she could tell him what he could and could not do. It was enough to make England see red. The tea she had set out for the two of them was no longer welcome in his hands. He set the cup down with a harsh clink that made the young colony flinch. Both hands were then braced upon either side of the table, ready to tip it over as an act of pure rage. And yet the colony looked up at him with those wide eyes of hers that seemed to peer into his with such childish trust.

"And why the bloody hell not?"

"They will die, England. You can feel it," the girl said, "I can feel it. Why are we even discussing this?"

England got to his feet, knocking the table over with his sudden movement. The colony's eyes widened as the tea tray crashed to the ground and her tea pot shattered. Her table smashed into the ground as well. England had hand-carved the table for her when he found her. He had nearly broken every finger in his left hand to do it and he had more than one scar on his leg from splinters and shards of wood, but it had gotten done. To see the table getting damaged was terrible for her. But it was not as terrible as when England struck her across the face with the back of his hand. She fell from her chair. She had fallen to the ground, with a soft cry. For a split second, her face was numb, before her nerves registered the swift blow and the sharp pain was enough to cause tears to well up on the brims of her eyelids. It felt like her very skin was on fire from the rippling burning sensation from her face. She pressed her hand against the offended part of her face as a feeble attempt to subdue the maddening sting that now caused her cheek to throb vigorously. She knew it was going to leave a nasty bruise. Yet her heart hurt more than her face did. She just couldn't believe he actually hit her.

England had never hit her before. And he had never hit any of his other colonies either. She had to have been the first he had smacked and it ached. England was constantly comparing her to her brother America. She was never as good as the little boy, apparently. A part of her hated him. A part of her wanted to meet him because he was family. And then yet another part of her just wanted to crawl under a rock and forget the world, and forget America for that matter, even though, technically, she was the younger sibling because America was found first. Slowly, she turned her head back from its turned position so she was facing England again. Her glare had not diminished despite the powerful blow to her face. England grabbed her arm and forced her to her feet before he wrapped his hand around her slim neck, not putting to much pressure but enough to show her that he was not playing. He had knocked her hand aside and took pride in the fact that his rings had scraped flesh. She had a small trail of blood on her face. The force of the punch was pretty hard.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that again," he said firmly.

He stared deeply into her eyes. She didn't respond to him. She merely placed her hand on the cheek that was struck and touched it lightly. She wasn't at all surprised that there was a small trail of blood trailing down her cheek to her jaw. When she pulled her fingers back they were stained red and they were sticky. She just stared at the blood in mute apathy. She really felt nothing inside, despite how she knew she was supposed to feel something. However, out of everything that hurt, it was her heart that ached the most. She knew that her heart was nothing to trust since it was so broken and shattered that if it were to be made by a child it would have glue, tape, thread, rips, tears, and cuts. It would still be falling part despite any effort the child would use to keep it together, to keep it whole, to preserve something that was supposed to be given as a gift. Her heart was beyond giving to someone else when she was the child fighting to keep it whole. No one would ever want her heart.

"Roanoke, you have seem to have forgotten you are _my_ colony. _I_ decide what goes on, not _you_."

Roanoke slowly pried England's hands off her neck with the little strength that she had as a colony, which wasn't much because honestly, she was still under British rule, under the rule of a man who probably didn't care what happened to her. However, Britain relented and let her go because a part of him was horrified that he had struck her in such a manner. She was his colony. He was supposed to take care of her and yet there he was, doing exactly what he wanted to prevent others from doing to her, and really they could do much worse than a slap across the face, but he had drawn blood and that hurt him, just as much as it hurt her. She pushed him away from her with all the strength she had. She tasted something coppery in her mouth and she realized she had bit her tongue when he had cut her with his rings. She resisted the urge to spit out the blood, but that would be rude and highly unlady like. England had taught her better than that. She would wash her mouth out after he was gone and she would be alone, again.

"The Indians that used to inhabit my land are dying, England. They are dying, right in front of me because of illnesses that your people brought."

To the day, England could not deny that he felt rage boiling beneath his skin when she said that. It wasn't his fault the Indians couldn't cope with what his people brought. It wasn't like he had enough power to vaccinate all of the people who had been living in the New World. It was survival of the fittest, where only the strong survived. Roanoke's natives were not the strong. His people were the strong. Roanoke's new people were going to be the stronger of the two societies on her land. Arthur was doing this for her own good. If she didn't have people on her land who were strong enough to live on their own then it meant that she would fade from existence. Arthur refused to let that happen to any of his colonies, especially one so young. Roanoke and America were his biggest concerns at the moment. He felt that it was cruel for his colonies to demand more of him when he had already given so much for them at the moment. He had practically moved the stars and yet they could still ask for more. It was exhausting, living up to their expectations.

"Your people are not fit to live on the land."

Now he was just insulted. His people had lived through war after bloody war. They were strong and resolute in their decisions. They were enduring people that could put up with much more hardships than he had seen some other countries endure. He had earned the right to start controlling other colonies. He was an Empire for a reason and he wouldn't have been able to remain in power if he wasn't good at his job. And what a good job he had done so far. Spain was terrified of him. France was, well, France. They never had a good relationship to start with. All of his colonies did as he told them. They followed his every order. But now, this colony was starting to get ideas? It wasn't good, especially if it led to a revolution or something because if one person rebels, they all do because they think that if they can team up together they would actually stand a chance.

He wouldn't crumble like that. He would not let this little colony ruin everything that he had worked so hard for. But what startled him, was that she requested this meeting as her human self, not as a colony. His boss didn't even know that he was there. He just thought that she wanted to see him. And yet she was involving business. It angered him. If she was going to talk business, ask as Roanoke, not as a human to see Arthur. But now that he really thought about it, he realized he never gave Roanoke a human name. She was just a nameless colony, only going by her colony name – the original failed leader of Englishmen. Maybe it was it was fate trying to tell him something as he pondered her name, tell her that she was doomed because she was named after a dead man. He wouldn't start thinking about this until many years after their conversation, once he, as Alfred put it 'pulled his head out of his ass.'

"They don't know how to take care of it. They have never farmed once in their entire life. They cannot live like the Indians do."

Now he was furious. He couldn't believe that Roanoke had the audacity to say that those savages, those ingrates, were better than his citizens were at surviving. His people had gone through much throughout his many years as a nation so they were adapt to survive through anything. Her monstrosities didn't even know what tea was before he took it over the sea and now she had the audacity to say that it wasn't good enough for her people, and that he was not allowed to send more of his people there so that they could be happy. That was the lowest of the low. Those creatures weren't civilized in the slightest. They couldn't even read or write. All of their stories were passed down by word of mouth. How were they to become a great society if they could not even tell future generations how to make themselves better except through stories about Spirits?

"And you want your precious savages to live happily ever after, is that it?" England roared.

Roanoke's eyes widened. She had expected England's anger but she had not expected it to that level. But what she was suggesting would mean the death of her. The Indians were dying. There were no more Englishmen on her lands. A colony was not a colony without people to represent. A nation was not a nation without people to represent. But this was her decision. She was doing the merciful thing, even if it meant that she would die and she might not die. It was a gamble, she knew that, but someone had to do something. Someone had to stop the humans from dying and if it wasn't going to be a nation, it was going to be a colony. She envied her brother America. He didn't have to worry about things like deciding whether or not to allow humans to come to his land, and possibly dying if the people died. He was just bigger than she was. He had more supplies and a stronger chance of survival, he always did and he always would for eons to come, it seemed.

"It is not that!" Roanoke cried, "I just don't want to see anyone else die!"

"Then you should have been stronger to protect them, love," England hissed, "You should have done your job as a nation and protected them. Now stop bothering me."

England gathered his things, not caring that in his act of violence against her, he had knocked over the table. Tea dribbled out of the broken teacups and the teapot was shattered at Roanoke's feet. She looked up at him. She was just sitting in the middle of the floor. Everything around her was in ruins. It would take her a day just to clean everything up. Perhaps even the tablecloth he had given her was ruined but he honestly didn't care. He had enough money at the moment to replace it should he chose to, once she apologized for her indecent behavior, that was. Until he got that apology, heartfelt mind you, she was just going to have to deal with having a stained table cloth. However, he could never be so heartless as to deny her the essential things – like clothes, food and other goods needed to start another town. The third time was a charm so there was no reason why this wasn't going to go right because of the luck of threes.

"Please, England, I am begging you," she whispered.

He turned to face her. She was actually on her hands and knees. Her head was bowed to him. Her hair covered her face like a veil until she looked up at him. There were tears streaking down her face. Though sad and quite heartbroken, there was still an air of wonder about her. But it was apparent that she could not see it herself. She looked absolutely terrified at the thought of sending more humans to her land. But if she had only told him what had happened to the other colonists he might have given her some leniency but all she did was shake her head and shed a single tear, every single time he mentioned them, without fail. One night he had heard her screaming in her sleep, 'I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please… Forgive me!' And the next morning she had acted as if nothing had happened and that she didn't have a nightmare, even when Arthur had pointed out that he had heard her screaming. She just told him it was the wind.

"Don't send humans to my land," she pleaded, "Please."

"It has already been done. Expect them soon," England said.

With that he walked away from the horror stricken colony. She just sat in the middle of the floor as he stalked towards the door. On his way out he started gathering his things. His jacket was on a rack that Roanoke had carved herself. His hat was there as well. His gloves were sitting on a small table that had been made by one of the previously dead colonists. It chilled Arthur's blood to see the furniture of a dead man in Roanoke's home. It was as if were her spoils of killing all of the colonists, having a home with such nice things but in a way it was also like keeping those things near her helped Roanoke through the grieving process because she knew those people were in a better place. Sure, it was a bit over dramatic but it was rather strange to look around Roanoke's home. Half of it was from the colonists, as gifts, the other half was from the Indians, also as gifts but from longer ago than when the colonists arrived. And although it was the last time he would ever see her, not that he knew it at the time, Arthur did remember the last words she ever said to him, however.

"I will never blame you for this, England, not once… I just hope you know that in the end…"

* * *

><p>As good as his word, new colonists arrived in Roanoke's land. And Roanoke was there to greet them, like the good little colony that England taught her to be. Really only the leader of the lot and England knew what she was. To the other colonists, she was just a little girl that no one had paid attention to before. She tried to warn the colonists off. She told them how the other inhabitants died but all they saw was useful land. She told them everything she could about Phillip Amadas and Arthur Barlowe – the two men who found her in the middle of the forest. She told them about the Indians that lived on her lands and their disputes but danger seemed to spurn on their taste of adventure so she told of harsh winters and rough unbearable summers. They laughed and told her they had faced worse in England. She had shivered as she remembered her first encounter with the other nation. If she grew up stronger, like England she might have been strong enough to rebel but for now, she would just have to wait.<p>

"Whatever is your name, miss?" one of the men asked.

She stared at him for a moment, and then realized that he was talking to her and not one of the other women climbing off the boat that was docked in her harbor. She blushed hotly once she thought of just how stupid she was being, like some childish school girl coming straight out of a finishing-school that England had wanted to take her to once she was strong enough to leave her citizens for a year or so. England had told her lots of things, and making herself look appealing to the other nations was one of them. She was supposed to be a good house wife, do the cooking, do the cleaning, farm, sew, make soaps, and other things like that. But Roanoke only looked like a girl of five to a human's eyes. Sure, she was bound to grow because she was getting more people on the land but she also wasn't sure for how much longer she was going to grow. And it terrified her because other lives hung in the line with hers.

"Roanoke."

"That is the name of the land," the other man said.

Roanoke nodded. This man was the leader, she could tell. He would be the one she would report to, but also the one she had to convince to leave. England had told her about him in a letter, which she had just received upon the settlers arrival. She skimmed it quickly and found herself trying to seek out her new boss, as all colonists and nations did alike. They had to find their boss, set a baseline and then do whatever their boss said, down to a T. Granted, England had power over her boss but his boss had power over England so if she could convince her boss to talk to England's boss then that would overrule England and she would win this game of wits. She would save lives while doing it because as she looked at the people in the crowd, she knew that they would meet the same ends as the other colonists did and it terrified her to the core. She simply could not allow that to happen, not to those people.

"Yes, and it is also my name," she informed them.

The man shook his head, disagreeing with her ideals about herself. The longer she looked at him, the more she had 'that' feeling. This man was going to be her boss so what he said was going to go. His word was law. And this worried her, because if she grew attached to him, it would make it all the harder to make him leave with the others, even if it was to save his life and the lives of all of the other colonists. So she would do her best to stay distant and not grow attachments. It was for the better after all. The lives of the humans were much more important than her own. It was a strange sort of duty that the colonies and nations had. The people they represented came first, even if it meant getting severely injured, because it took a lot to kill a nation but it took more to kill a nation than a colony, for a stranger, who was still one of 'theirs,' it would happen because it was in their blood to not let their people die.

"Well, that simply will not do. We must give you a proper name…"

And for a while, her boss and another man just debated what her 'human' name should have been. A lot of names had been thrown out, for her to listen to but she just told them to name her themselves because the name really made no difference to her since they would be the only ones to use it for her. She had no taste in human names. England had a human name. She knew that much. But there was also Spain. She knew he had a human name too because England had come over just to complain about him whenever he visited her while she supplied him with tea, cleaned his boots, polished his guns, re-sew all of the worn edges on his red jacket and washed all of his clothes. While she would much rather have heard stories about him as he was going about and defeating Antonio as a pirate she got stuck listening to 'what a wanker' Francis and Antonio were. If only she had been a boy, perhaps England would have loved her a little more. If she were a boy, he might have taken her words a little more seriously.

"We shall call you Patience," the man announced.

"Why must you call me anything other than Roanoke?" she questioned, "I am not like you."

"But you are," the man insisted, "And you may call me John White."

And so to the colonists, she became Patience.

* * *

><p>Patience watched as the new men started looking for the last group of people who had been there on her land. The man's who led the previous group was named Sir Richard Grenville. And Roanoke admitted she didn't understand the fascination the British colonists had with names. She was just Roanoke. And yet now she was Patience as well. So she wrote England what had happened, about her new name, about how he should pull the colonists out, how she wished things could be different and how she thought that he was the best caretaker she had, that she loved him, despite his mistake. She had addressed it to her 'Dearest Father' because really, that's what he was to her – a father, albeit one who didn't listen and was stubborn and never around, but a father all the same. She had a sense of foreboding as she watched the colonists settle in peacefully. This wasn't going to end well should they remain there.<p>

But still, she told them what had happened. The new colonists didn't believe her. However, they did eventually, once they found the bones of the original settlers instead. Horror struck the men. Panic struck the women. Children were crying in blind terror because their parents were keeping secrets. Only the fellow who introduced himself as John White seemed to keep his cool. He just encouraged everyone to keep looking, insisting that they had no proof that it was Grenville or his men. However, after a month of searching, they gave up hope of trying to find 'Grenville.' She told them that Grenville had left his men, with the promise of fresh supplies upon his return. The men died and Grenville never came back. Roanoke assumed he was dead too. There was a harsh storm the night after he left.

She had warned him that the natives on her island would not be friendly. Patience was constantly telling them how the man named Ralph Lane led countless attacks against the Croatan tribes that covered her land. The colonists would not listen. She had warned them of strange noises that the original colonists heard, but they laughed it off. She had warned them against foul beasts but they declared their guns were powerful enough to scare off any creature. She had warned them of illness, of drought, of disease, of hunger, of poor soil, of harsh winters and storms that she called hurricanes but they ignored her words. She had been desperate, trying to convey somehow the danger they were in and how they needed to leave but no matter what she did the colonists stayed and were intent on staying there for the rest of their days.

But still Patience warned them again and again.


	2. Chapter I: A Plead

The worst happened when one of the settlers – George Howe – went out to get some crabs for his family for dinner but had gotten killed. It was really strange for someone to get killed the way he did. He was drowned in the shallows with his net wrapped around his neck but it had to get there somehow. Patience was the one who had to deliver the news to John White about what had become of the man. She also went out of her way and told the family of George what had become of him. They were shocked and horrified, not to her surprise. It was hard to accept the loss of someone so important in the family. He had a wife. He had kids. And they depended on him to take care of them. Now they had no one and they were still stuck in a new land without friends, without family and no one else to depend on. It was terrifying, or at least that's what Mrs. Howe kept telling her as she howled her agony into Patience's shoulder.

Knowing what had happened during Ralph Lane's tenure in the area and fearing for their lives, the colonists persuaded Governor White to return to England to explain the colony's situation and ask for help. Patience walked over to John's cabin the night before he decided to return back to England. She knew with every step she took just how many people were staying when he was returning. She had thought John a brave man and yet he was the leader, he was their protector. But he was leaving. She had begun to believe that under his guidance the people might have survived but if he abandoned them, all one hundred and fifteen of them would die – including the first born baby in the land they were starting to call America. Roanoke rolled her eyes. She was first. She was born first. She was born in 1584 when Phillip Amadas and Arthur Barlowe found her. America was just different from her because England found him before he found her. America was found in the 1600's but she was still first.

She shook her head, trying to escape her jealous thoughts about her brother. The baby, christened Virginia Dare, would be left behind when White returned to England. She couldn't allow that to happen. She already knew the natives were dying. Smallpox and influenza had already started sweeping through their tribes from the first time the colonists had landed. It was only spreading even worse now that there were new colonists carrying fresh diseases that were eating away at the poor men and women who had lived there originally. Within the next coming summer, there wouldn't be anyone left. She would die if the colonists left but she couldn't allow them to stay there and die with her so she knocked on John White's door. She was not so cruel. And she had already come to terms with the fact that she would die by the end of the next year should she convince the settlers to leave. She looked down at her hands. She looked only to be twelve. She was aging but she knew it wouldn't be for long.

"Come in."

So she entered the house. John was packing all of his things. He paused when he realize that she didn't say anything the moment she walked in. But she only ever spoke to someone when they were looking at her so it really wasn't anything out of the ordinary. She was a polite girl, that man – Arthur, the man she claimed was like her father – raised her to be a well and proper young woman. She could cook, sew and clean with the best of the housewives, but she acted as if she rightfully belonged on the hunt with the men. It was a laughable thought, but she was just a child. She would grow out of it in all due time since it was merely a phase that she was going through. Naturally, he smiled when he saw her because he thought that all was well in the world. He would go back, set things right with the government and then everyone would live happily ever after. He would help her regain her already declining health.

"Ah, Patience, love," he crooned.

He stepped towards her gently kissing her brow as a father would his daughter. He would have liked to have thought he was like a second father to her. Arthur would always remain first in her heart no matter how far the matters of family were pushed. But, she did live with John and his family at his request. It made it easier for her to take orders, or so she kept telling herself. It had nothing to do with the attachment she was starting to grow with the humans who lived in her land. She still had to send them away before they would all die, again. It was the only way to save the humans, but not herself. So what if she didn't win in this situation? She was still doing her duty as a colony and even England couldn't fault her for trying to protect her people to the best of her ability. Maybe, this might even make him proud of her. She was growing up to the point where she was making adult-like decisions as such a young colony.

"Mr. White…" she said softly.

"What may I assist you with, love?" John asked, "Mind you, it will have to be quick. I must finish packing."

"Take the others with you, John," Patience said.

John blinked in surprise. She never used his first name. He put both hands on Patience's shoulders and looked her dead in the eyes. Her sapphire eyes stared up at him with all the childish innocence he expected her to have but something was off as he looked into those deep orbs. She seemed haunted, almost terrified of something that he had no idea what. She normally told him everything, even things he wasn't aware of but she was. Granted, she did tell him she was different from the other settlers. He just didn't know how different. All he knew was that she was wise beyond her years, she knew things others didn't and she aged faster than some of the other people on the island. Under the normal circumstances, he might have been afraid of her but when he looked at her all he felt was comfort and a strange sense of security, as if she knew what she were doing and how to take care of everyone there. She was a true pleasure to know. He was overjoyed when he saw her healthy but as of late her health had been deteriorating.

She thought that he didn't know, that he didn't care about what happened to her but really he did. She was like a daughter to him. Seeing her sick hurt him. As he packed his things he wished that he could have taken her with him and back to England. He would have liked to have taken his family back to England as well but they simply had to stay. His children would understand and come to terms with it as his wife had. He was sure that she would have liked it there. She would even get to visit Arthur – her father. Yet it made John's blood boil to think that her father just left her in the New World on her own. It was most certainly improper because a young woman should have never have been left alone in the first place. Patience insisted that it was merely his job that took Arthur away from her so long but in all honesty, job or not a father should put his daughter over work. Family was important. Arthur was just wanker who deserved to be decked right in the face for all the sorrow he put Patience through. John once voiced this aloud and Patience merely laughed, a lilting sound that reminded him of bells.

Patience didn't know that John saw her waiting by the shore every day, waiting for a ship to come. Each time she saw something, she got excited, only to be disappointed without fail. Not a single ship had come. She was once told by one of the villagers that no one was coming and while the colonist was seemingly upset to have to dash her hopes, it had to be done. And the settlers were right to assume her hopes would be dashed. If her body hadn't a skeleton, she probably would have drooped all the way to the floor and while that was a very un-lady like manner, none of the villagers begrudged her for it because honestly, it was sad for her to stand there and wait, day in and day out for a man who was never going to come for her. She was waiting for her father to come and visit her. She wanted to be praised but she also wanted to beg him to get everyone off of her island because it simply wasn't safe.

"What's wrong?"

"Don't leave them here," Patience continued, "They won't make it."

John's eyes widened. He knew the 'they' she was speaking of. It meant the other colonists. But really, he simply couldn't refuse the trip to go. The other colonists were depending on him to make things better for them. They were short on supplies. They were running low on food and water. The men had been catching much less in the hunt nowadays. The winter had already been harsh enough and they barely had any food. If he didn't go back for supplies now they would have no hope for the next year. They would all starve to death. And he was not about to play the game of selection, choosing a few to go with him, packing everything they had and leaving the rest to die. That was the game of Gods and he knew he – as a human – had no right to do such a thing. It was in his power to name who would live and who would die. Besides, everything would be fine. England was preparing supplies for them as they spoke so he just had to go and pick them up. It would only be a couple months' sail and then he would be right back where he belonged.

"Bullocks. They'll be just fine," John said, "Just you wait."

He let her go. He turned back to his things, to continue packing, preparing for his voyage across the sea once more. He didn't notice the expression of utter despair on Patience's face. She now knew there was no convincing him and yet she still had to try. Good people would die if she didn't. She clenched her hands above her heart, trying to keep back a wave of raw emotion. She didn't know what to do, what to say. She could argue with him until she was blue in the face. But she was not arguing as Roanoke. She was arguing as Patience. If she pulled the colony card on him, it would have had to have been from everyone's opinion that she felt in her heart. No one wanted to leave. But as Patience, she knew the dangers and what might happen. She didn't know anything and it terrified her. But she wished more than anything in the world that she was a nation, because then her leader would take her more seriously. England's King took him seriously. Even France got respect, or at least respect enough.

"John, I've had nightmares," Patience said, "About _their_ deaths… About _my_ death…"

John froze. But then he looked back up at Patience. He knew what she was. He was told by England before he left, but that still didn't make him completely at ease with her all the time. England threatened him, saying that if he did not take care of Roanoke that England would remember and go after him to make him pay for her suffering tenfold. So John made sure to take good care of Roanoke, and of Patience, doting on the child as much as he doted on his own children. He gave her everything he could, despite the fact she never asked for anything. She wasn't spoiled. She thanked him for every gift, always telling him he did not need to give her anything in the first place. However, John liked the idea of making her happy, the way England never could as a father figure. But her smiles were few and far between. She often looked dazed and would stare off in space, when she was not waiting by the shore for a boat.

"You cannot die, love," John reminded her, "You're not human, remember?"

"I _can_ die," Patience denied.

John shook his head again in disagreement. He was told by England that nations could not die, so Patience would not die. She was just having nightmares. If she had no people to represent, she would become mortal but he didn't know that. However, he was sure that because she was so young she did not know what she was talking about. She knew that a war was brewing between the Indians she had on her land and the Indians on her shore. Those on the shore would not rest until those off the mainland were dead. She had seen the smoke signals from either tribe. Open war was among them, whether they wished it or not. She loathed the idea of her people dying in the ensuing attack because it was truly inevitable. The Indians were already preparing for war. The colonists had weapons to fight, but they would run out of bullets eventually. Women couldn't fight. There were children and elderly there as well. It was just so frustrating that Roanoke wanted to pull her hair out. She knew what she was talking about and no one was listening to her.

"You're just letting the men get to you. What happened to the strapping young lady I met when I first got here?"

She shook her head. She took a step towards him, gently, as if she might scare him off if she moved any faster. She put a dainty hand on his forearm, trying to make him look at her once more. She knew his wife would get mad at her for pestering him about what was supposed to be the business of 'men' but she was a colony. She had to do something before war struck. She had to do something before disease hit. She had to do something before starvation set in. John sighed. He set his shirt down and gripped Patience's shoulders, looking down at her with the look an exasperated teacher might send a rather annoying student that simply wouldn't listen. It made Patience want to lose her patience. She was far older than anyone there. If their leader wouldn't listen to them then she would do something about it. She did her best not to glower at the man who took her in when she had no one but he was pushing her to a point she did not want to be in.

"Patience, if anything goes wrong, if anyone forces you to leave… I want you to draw a Maltese cross onto the tree. Can you do that for me?"

She nodded. She would be the one forcing everyone to leave instead of anything else. She would have to in order to spare them. After all, John was leaving ships behind for them, just in case something were to happen. England had left her enough personal effects for her to bribe some of the men into being a crew and getting everyone to the shore. It would just be a matter of taking everyone else to America's lands. Patience felt guilt plucking at her heart for going against John but since he was leaving, abandoning everyone, she would do her best to get the colonists somewhere safe. As much as she loath to admit it, America as better off taking care of them. He could take them in, or at least his natives could. She was simply too dangerous for the people to stay near. She bowed her head in shame. She had written England letters. The last one she received came from America's place. England was preparing America for his first bunch of colonists. They weren't coming for some time, but America was still young. He had a lot to learn before he was completely ready.

"Good," he said, "I'll come find you if they do. I promise."

"Please, Joh-"

"Go. If you cannot see already, I'm busy."

Patience bowed her head. She was just trying to wrap her head around everything that was happening. She had played this scene many times in her head before but never could she have imagined this… this _hurt_ that she felt so deeply to her very core. She felt as if someone was simultaneously stepping on her heart and slicing it to ribbons. She wanted to scream but she knew that John would not change his mind once it was made. He was a stubborn man, just as much as England himself. Once he had set his mind, he would not back down. Patience closed her eyes, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice as she tried to gather what she wanted to say into words. She honestly couldn't believe that John was being so thickheaded in this. She warned him, again and again and still he couldn't bring himself to listen to her. Why was it that no one listened to her? She was a reputable colony!

"Then you doom them…" she whispered, "Just as you doom me…"

John turned to remark back to her but found that his cabin was already empty. The only sign that she had been there was a small jacket, that he had his wife make for her when he realized that she didn't have very many clothes. He picked it up, gently, as if afraid it would rip at the seams the moment he touched it. It smelled like her, of the trees, the ocean brine and of the campfires she often sat around with an amused smile, far too old for someone her age. She never took the jacket off before, not even in the summer when it was hot outside. The jacket covered up a scar across her right arm and shoulders that John's wife had seen once. When they asked what had caused such a gruesome scar, she told them she hoped that they would never find out. She never remarked much further. Once when one of the other colonists demanded that she tell him because he was one of the elders she lashed out, shouting that she was older, she had endured much more than they could have ever imagined and that he should stay out of the business of others. The following day, she went to the man and begged his forgiveness. He granted it, albeit nervously.

"Just wait for me, Patience. I'll come back. I promise."


	3. Chapter II: The Death of Patience

How much sorrow can one being bear? It was as though something pervasive and tangible lies within her body, burdening her every movement with a sense of finality. Her vision was blurring with unshed tears. She was just one person, one nation, one colony. She couldn't have saved them all but she had done what she could. She swallowed thickly. Gone – the very world left emptiness in her soul. The colonists were gone. The Indians were gone. She was going to, being welcomed to the embrace of nothingness that all fallen colonies and nations were welcomed into, just like the Roman Empire that England told her stories about, albeit reluctantly because England hated the man. She would disappear just like Germania, that she had heard whispers of. She would walk alongside Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt in halls of whiteness and nothingness. But she didn't want to go. She liked life. She was rather attached to it all. Yet here was where the line was being drawn. She had no choice. She realized at that moment, she never did.

"W-Why?" she whispered.

They had no way of protecting themselves, no guns, no weapons, no defense of any kind. But they were gone. That was all that she could even think about at the moment, aside from the thundering ache of the beating of her heart that made her want to rip the organ out to at least feel something other than the tight squeezes that sent her breath in a ragged spiral downwards. She stared up at the sky. Rain was falling down like teardrops, kissing her skin, apologizing for the pain she was in. She felt her hand reaching up, trying to grasp something but there was nothing there. Her hand was shaking as she reached for nothing. Dying was a lonely thing apparently. She had been forgotten, forgone because of America. She had lasted at least five years but only because there were so many natives on her land that fought until their very last breath against the illness and other attacks from the natives from the mainland. She couldn't even remember what happened to the colonists. All she could remember was that they were taking apart their homes one day and then the next they were gone like dust in the wind.

"E-England, help me…" she begged.

* * *

><p>England sat up in bed. His eyes were wide. He clutched the blankets tightly in his hands. Slowly he got up and out of bed. He walked over to the window, shivering at the cold beneath his feet because he had failed to retrieve his slippers. Clouds of dark coloring loomed over the city and roared with its threatening claps of thunder and lighting, giving only brief flashes of light before the night succumbed to the darkness again. England found there was a strange kind of poetic symbolism that it would choose to rain that night. It was no wonder why so many storytellers over the centuries were so obsessed with capturing its essence. There was just no right way to express everything that came into a person's heart when they experienced the natural phenomenon. A rainstorm could stir and inspire strong emotions, conflicting and contrasting. One either found the rain a nourishing source of renewal… or a drowning, sapping source of ruin.<p>

He only wondered what it was at that moment.

But he could have sworn her heard someone calling out to him while he slumbered on. The soft sound of the rain painted the glass window. The scenery outside was dark and murky, an occasional strike of blue lightning the only think to penetrate it, besides the light from the candle at her bed side. There was the occasional rumble of the deep thunder. The pitter of the rain was the only other sound to be heard. England sat leaning against the cool window with his head barely touching the glass. He had his cheek pressed against his hand, forced flesh against the cool glass panel. He had been staring out for a while now, just pondering any thoughts that decided to reveal themselves in his mind. Had he not been in America's home he might have gone out for a drink but he had a reputation to keep up as America's caretaker in front of the other colonists.

"E-England!"

The wind howled fiercely as rain pounded harshly against the thick windows, sounding like miniature fists when they hit the whole house at full force. It was chaotic outside, stormy and dark, the clouds gray and rumbling, and the wind forced the trees and plants to submit and bend under its intense strength. A quick flash of lightening lit up the room suddenly. A sickening crack tore through the sky, sounding so loud and unearthly. Thunder, and by the noise it produced, it was some miles away. Even so, it was very frightening and noisy to a young child like America. It had to have hurt his eardrums to listen to it. A second lightening strike took England by surprise. He staggered into America's room, watching as the dark sky illuminate from his tiny bedroom.

"E-England!" the cry came again, this time more terrified.

England entered the room. He watched the room light up before finding a mass of blankets in the middle of the bed. He realized that the little nation was hiding under the covers on his bed. England winced when he found America clutching one of his wooden soldiers closer to his chest. It was ominously silent, the air still and heavy until, finally America screamed at the sound of another thunder clap, clasping his tiny hands over her ears and the toy fell helplessly to the wooden floor as he curled into a ball, trembling as he cried out the only name that could save her, England's name in the variation of England, Arthur, Artie and Iggy. England eased down on the bed next to his charge. The boy flinched at the touch until he realized it was his guardian, the one he had been calling for to save him from the storm.

"America," he cooed, "Are you alright?"

Relief spread quickly through America's once chilled body, warming him affectively. He sniffled, and gazed up at his guardian with frightened, yet beautiful sapphire eyes brimming with tears. England smiled sadly, wearily and wiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb. The boy raised his arms over his head, reaching hopefully for his guardian to cradle him within his arms. America was embarrassed, scared and would most likely deny needing to have England by his side in the morning but England knew what America wanted. He was afraid. He wanted England to stay in the room with him, perhaps even into the morning at least until the boy was well asleep to the point where the storm wouldn't bother him anymore.

"E-England…"

England stared at the child for a moment, admiring how helplessly adorable his little charge looked, before smiling knowingly and bending down to raise the boy up. Once he was gathered protectively in England's arms the powerful nation sat on America's bed so he didn't have to remain standing while holding the terrified colony. America sighed contently as soon as the older man hugged him close, whispering calming things and stroking his cheeks to wipe away any stray tears. Comforted, the small nation began to cry and wailed his distress in broken English. But the nation was speaking too fast for England to understand. However, England understood the words of tears and hushed America with soft words and light touches. America hiccupped pitifully, his tiny hands clutching England's worn sleeping shirt as he sobbed into the man's neck. He whimpered as another strike of light lit up the night, followed by a thunderous crash. England simply smiled. A hand tangle itself into America's golden hair as he held the boy even closer.

"Shh, it's alright. Hush, I'm here," England soothed.

England rubbed the still sobbing nation's back, massaging his shaking shoulders. It was silent for a while. The only audible sound was the faint hiccupping of America and the fading rumble of thunder as well as the now rhythmic pattering of rain outside. America's crying had finally ceased, and England was relieved to see heavy eyelids shielding sleepy, yet still slightly damp sapphire eyes. He thumbed away the remaining tears before his adorably tired nation yawned. America's once tense arms now loosely looped around England's neck. America's form became limp in his arms, and England smiled again. He carefully carried America to his untouched bed, stepping over sewn toy animals and colored sheets of scrap paper. Laying the boy down, England covered him with a blanket and made sure to tuck him in so that America was warm and snug. America suddenly whined grabbed hold his guardian's oversized sleeve before England could lean back up. Slightly surprised, England observed the sleepy child's face.

"Don't leave, England."

A silent pout and helpless, tired eyes were all the convincing America needed. England smiled for the umpteenth time that night, and carefully lied down next to the small nation who lazily scooted over to make room. As soon as he was settled, America snuggled closely into the older man's chest, resting his cheek against the warmth of the other. His eyes closed. England lightly touched the nation's small back. How delicate and fragile this child seemed, England thought, but he was so sweet and adorable that whatever cold England felt, when he was with this little child all the bitterness and hate melted away. He loved every single one of his colonies, all in different ways but America was his smallest one at the moment. America was just so dependent, so afraid of being alone that England often spent as much time as he could with the young one. He even spent a good amount of time preparing America for the day he would have colonists on his lands amongst the natives he also held. It was a proud day indeed when the queen started gathering colonists. They would be in America's lands within a couple of years, because they had to build a ship large enough to house his future colonists.

Truly, he loved America. He knew America loved him as well. He never doubted it. America always depended on him for everything. America just needed comfort and a loving hand to help him grow. When America's breathing had slowed, and his little chest rose up and down calmly, England knew he was asleep. Sighing contently, England wrapped a slender arm around the America's shoulder, placing his chin upon America's head amongst the soft blond locks. He laid back on the bed, holding America close. He was glad he was there for the night. America would have been terrified to be alone during a storm. He would have cried and complained to England the next time he came but when England was there, his big brother could do anything, or so America thought. Unfortunately, England still had to go back and forth across the pond to do his job in England but he stayed in America as long as the King would allow, now the Queen would have wanted him to bring America to her to live in the castle but the King was adamant that America should grow up on his own.

"Good-night."

Surely, this was a sanctuary from the storm.

And yet, something felt wrong, so terribly wrong.

* * *

><p>There were sloppy footprints were imprinted on the mud. It was raining. The creator of the trail ran blindly for her dying life. Her brown hair was plastered to her forehead, drops of rain falling into her emerald eyes that she just unconsciously blinked away. She didn't even seem to realize that her clothes were sticking to her body in a most unflattering way. She shivered, wishing she had her jacket but no longer regretted having it. She was going to go one way or another now that she had lost her immortality with the last of her people. Harsh water droplets blew on the young girl's side, creating more puddles in her wake and swaying her hair. Her aching side was spilling red sprinkles onto the ground, coming out faster than her pathetic breathing and upon each breath the ground was littered with the red droplets. The blood mixed with the rain water, making it turn an off shade of pink. Her heart seemed to squeeze while the fear shivered down her spine. She realized her situation: she was going to die alone.<p>

She stumbled and fell to the ground with a harsh gasp escaping her blue-tainted lips. Her body was screaming fiery pain, telling her to stop and stay down. This was hurting too much. She had tried to use some of the tools and the wood left behind to make a raft for herself to get off of her island but then she gave up. She saw no point in trying to flee her lands when she was her land. It would be like trying to run away from herself. The girl gritted her teeth, pushing on her elbows to spit out involuntarily swallowed dirt. Excruciating pain boiled her flesh hotter within the moist air. She groaned, setting her head down, feeling too light-headed and queasy to think of a plan to survive. Her eyes shuttered down. Her cheek bone rested on a rather flat rock that felt even colder than the rain against her skin. The sweat, rain, blood and bitter cold had now starting to take its toll for her reckless attempt in fleeing.

She still couldn't get over the shock that the archer had shot her. There was one last attack from the main land. It killed off the last of her natives and one or two colonists who had actually been hiding with the tribe. It was pure luck that she had escaped the mainland natives at all but there she was a few yards away from the town and she was going to die. She hadn't even reached the ocean yet – her one goal for the longest of times and she was going to die. Beads of sweat dribbled down her petal soft cheeks and smooth neck. Strands of hair stuck to her damp skin. She was ready to roll over and die. The pain was just unbearable and she had nothing to hold onto except for a goal that she was never going to reach. Fate seemed to be laughing at her face because she would never get to the shore, never get to try to call out to England once again. But she knew he wasn't coming, not to help her.

"En-England… D-Dad… Please…" she whispered.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. The rain kissed her face, hiding the tears from the world. The fact that life just wasn't fair was an overused and highly battered cliché… but she thought it fit her own life rather nicely. If anything, she had gotten the short end of the stick. _'What stick?'_ she wondered, _'Who cares about a bloody stick?' _That stick should just burst into flames or something. In fact, she didn't care if burst into flames. It would do more for her as kindling than fairness. It was like the gods had selected randomly, and just decided to pick on her. It seemed to choose the misfit and forgotten colonies as Fate's favorite chew toys. What hurt her even more was that she didn't get a choice in any of it. If someone had asked her if she would have wanted to have been a forgotten colony, doomed to die one day she would have said no. She would have wanted to have been a colony who was remembered, loved and taken care of. England hadn't even bothered to come and see her since she begged him not to send the last set of colonists to her land. She had seen ships passing, finding them only to be Spanish ships heading to other places south.

"I don't want to die!" she screamed.

Her cry echoed in the clearing around her. She didn't have the energy to get to her feet. She just lay in the mud as blood formed a puddle around her. In her hand she clutched a necklace that England had given her, a locket, golden and round. Inlayed at the center of the locket was a crystal – white in color but very pretty. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever given her before, aside from the jacket that John gave her but she had to part with that. She couldn't bear to have something from someone who couldn't keep his promises. And yet she kept the locket. England promised to be there for her and yet there she was at the end of her line. She sniveled, trying her best not to cry but she was alone. Despite the fact she had come to terms with her inevitable death she did not want to die. She didn't think anyone wanted to die. However, it simply wasn't fair. It might have been better if someone was with her, at least holding her hand and telling her it would be okay, even though it wouldn't have been.

She bit her lip, drawing blood. She was going to miss out on so much that she wanted to have. She wanted to prove to England that she would be a good colony, that he should pay attention to her sometimes, because it wasn't all about America. She wanted to have him tell her he was proud of her, just once. But she also wanted to meet the brother who took everything away from her. She wanted to see what was so special about the boy and why it made England desire to take care of him more than he did to even visit Roanoke. Patience's locks clung to her wet forehead. A whimper was sounded as she pressed her back to the cool of the stone beneath her. She tried to speak but it all came out unintelligible as she continued to sob harshly on the cold and unforgiving ground. Waves and waves of anguish and pain poured from the young colony and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the storm of emotions that thundered through her body.

"D-Dad, please…"

Thunder clapped overhead. Patience wept. The poor girl was shaking and shivering severely, the cold and her own emotions battling it out inside her body and mind, leaving her with no strength to hang onto as she struggled for her very life in the cold downpour. Her chest heaved in rage and her eyes flashed dangerously as she glowered at the sky, as if it were her cause of misery, but that was not the case. She was her own downfall, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She just simply wasn't meant to be. Her eyes were drowned in pain and tears left stains on her cheeks that were washed away from the rain that kept coming in a torrential downpour. Water cascaded from her eyes. Patience felt her hands clenched into fists at her side, as she struggled even stay alive a moment longer. Her breathing was becoming much rougher and more ragged by each passing second. She was losing the ability to see anything in front of her. She swallowed thickly. Her eyes were closing faster than she wanted them to.

"Help me!" she screamed.

No one heard her.


	4. Chapter III: Shooting Stars

"A wish?" Patience asked.

"That's right. When a star falls you say your wish three times before it falls," Arthur explained, "If you're able to do that the star will grant your wish."

She looked up at her father figure, thinking it over, deeply concentrating on what she really wanted. There were plenty of things she wanted. She wanted the colonists to stay, to live and flourish. She wanted to make Arthur proud of her. She wanted to know that everything would be okay in the future. She wanted to know England would be safe from any wars that he may have been facing himself. She wanted to know that he would win whatever battles he entered into in the future. She stared up at her 'father', her mentor and her caregiver. She liked it when he visited, though she could count the number of visits she received from him on a single hand. This visit was only the more painful because she knew that he was only heading to see America right after he visited her. He was still mentally preparing the boy for new colonists. He didn't take this long when he started teaching her. With his first visit, he brought colonists. He stayed for the span of a month and then left, deeming her ready to handle it.

"Don't get worked up about it… Wishes are easy," Arthur said.

Wishes weren't simple, not when you were looking at your heart's true desire, like Patience was. She really had to think about what she wanted above everything else. She considered everything she didn't have. Once she really started to think about it, she never had much to begin with, at least not as much as America. She bowed her head. There came the jealousy once more. She hated her brother, yet at the same time she wanted to meet him so badly she could feel the ache in her very bones. She just wanted to go to the shore, just once, just to meet her brother, to find out if he was as simply amazing as everyone said he was, and to figure out whether or not she truly hated her brother with her entire being like she felt like she did at times. She was just envious that all of Europe wanted something to do with him. She was just a small island. One good tsunami, one earthquake, one famine, one drought and she would be wiped off the map for good. And it seemed highly likely that something along those lines would happen.

"Huh?"

"Something you want to do, or something you want," Arthur continued, "Anything you want, anything at all."

"Oh…"

She frowned. She looked down at the hand that Arthur had wrapped around hers. She recalled her day and just how much it truly meant to her. She stared up at him as he watched the sky. She tightened her grip on his hand. He put his other hand on her shoulder, even going as far to kneel down beside her but he still watched the stars. He was trying to find her a second shooting star to wish off of. He looked free and happy as he stood at her side. This was such a simple thing. She had no idea why this made her heart so happy, just to spend time with her caregiver, but she liked his attention. She liked the way he made her feel special, by talking to her about things that she didn't understand or explaining things so that she did. She stared at him, almost far too intently. She was kind of glad that he wasn't looking at her. He had no idea what was going on through her head as she stared at him as intently as she was. She wondered what he would say to her if he caught her staring like that.

"Oh, look! Here comes another one!"

She bit her lip. She looked up, following Arthur's finger, finding the shooting star just at the very tip, where he was pointing. It was falling fast. She only had seconds to say what she wanted or else another wish would fall to waste. She wasn't sure how to react to a wasted wish, it sounded so sad, so awful. She knew what she wanted. But she didn't know if it would make England mad. She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes if only for a second. She kept staring up at the sky now. A single, forlorn star shot across the sky almost too quickly for the eye to catch before it burned out entirely. A sad smile filtered across Patience's face, and her eyes lit up with a steely light. It was look that meant Patience was hurting on the inside but was pretending that everything was fine but in reality it was a long shot. But the stars had mesmerized her. _'A fallen star…'_ she thought to herself, _'The sound of anything 'fallen' is sad.'_

Maybe that's the reason why she didn't want to wish on stars like Arthur wanted her to. Fallen angels, fallen stars — it was sad to hear about, let alone wish upon. The sadness was why she wished on happier things, like pennies in a fountain or four leaf clovers – which were hard to find on a beach. The colonists and the other humans she had grown to know thought it was strange since they all wished upon fallen things but she refused. She had even taken to wearing good luck charms like the locket that Arthur had given her before America was discovered. The crystal glimmered in the light. She smiled fondly as she thought of Arthur, twirling the locket in her fingers like she did when she was thinking deeply. Arthur was smiling at her fondly, trying to keep from gathering her into his arms and cradling her. She had grown a bit too much for him to be able to do that anymore. She had gotten so big in the time he left, it almost made him sad that he had to leave her alone so often, but she needed to learn to be strong so she could be a good example for her younger brother.

Patience had heard it said that angels are people that watch over their loved ones. They would guide the living throughout their lives, give them solace in times of melancholy, and bring hope in times of despondency. More importantly, angels were considered reminders that no one was ever truly alone in the world. If angels were really real it meant that there was always be someone beside them, no matter where they may be. It was a comfort to Patience so she disliked the thoughts of fallen angels since it meant there was one less angel to be there for someone who may or may not have needed them. She wondered if it were the same for Nations, if there was some sort of afterlife for them once they faded away. Perhaps if there was, she would meet Rome, Germania, Ancient Greece or even Ancient Egypt. There were odd speculations about the Holy Roman Empire, but if he was in the afterlife, Roanoke would like to find out, should things turn out the way she was predicting with the colonists.

"Go for it, Roanoke!" England encouraged.

She felt her heart seize in her chest. It was now or never. She might not ever get the chance to wish for it again because she wasn't good at predicting when the stars would fall like England was. She always seemed to miss them. Astronomy was never a strong subject of hers, though Arthur was putting in great efforts to teach her now, because he had skipped those lessons before. When she asked why she needed this, he said it was so, if for any reason, she ever wanted to take a boat to England to see him, then she would be able to guide the crew wherever she needed to go. That thought alone made her heart fly to hear it coming from him. It meant he cared, though he had brushed it off moment later. She was absolutely delighted to know that Arthur wanted her to visit him in his home. She wanted to see England, though she feared she might not ever get the chance to see him.

"England, England, England!" she cried.

Arthur looked down at her in surprise. Then he smiled tenderly at her. He knelt down to wrap his arms around the little nine year old micro-nation. After some time, the younger nation's hand crawled to Arthur's, gently grabbing hold of it. He seemed surprised at the gesture, but made no attempt to pull away from her because he seemed to realize she needed the contact. They entwined their fingers, gently squeezing. Turning his head to look at her, the man smiled softly. It was nice to feel like she had someone to depend on after all of the craziness that she faced in her life. But she didn't know that as much as she depended on him, he depended on her. He used his colonies to feel loved, because of his past. Though, he felt that he was doing the right thing, by colonizing. All of the fighting he was currently doing was on her behalf, especially since Spain was being a right wanker with all of the business of trying to invade England, not that the large island nation was going to take that lying down.

"Roanoke…" he whispered.

She frowned. He never called her by her human name. She bowed her head and looked up at him from under her lashes, doing her best to prevent herself from crying. Even when she told him proudly that the colonists he sent to her named her Patience. Even though this was his first visit to her since he sent new colonists over. He had been so lovingly affectionate to her when she was little. Now she rarely got these shows of affection. John tried to step in as her 'father' figure but Patience refused to allow him. No one would replace Arthur as her 'father.' No one could replace him for that matter. She smiled up at him, trying to get him to say something. She squeezed his hand once more, however that expression on his face made her feel like she had only messed things up again, that he would leave and she would be alone again.

"You're so precious, Roanoke," Arthur whispered, "But you say the silliest of things…"

Arthur stood up. He let go of her hand and let go of her. He even took a step back, away from her. She swallowed thickly. She frowned as he looked down at her. She couldn't very well say she wanted to be held just a little longer. Arthur wasn't a very affectionate person. He didn't normally hug people like that so she should have been considered this rather lucky to have gotten a single hug from the man at all. It was strange enough for her to wish for him, or so that was how she felt. But that was her wish, to spend more time with England because as long as he was there, she felt safe. She felt alone and abandoned whenever he was gone. She just did her best to act as if everything were okay when England did come to visit her, however few and far between the visits were for her. She put on the most convincing smile that she could manage for her 'father' figure. She only wanted to make him happy.

"Now, let's get home before the monsters find us. They would swallow a tiny colony like you in one gulp."

Roanoke shivered. Tears welled up in her eyes. There were terrifying things that loomed in the darkness, if only England knew about some of the terrifying things that haunted her nightmares and chased her through darkness. He didn't know about her night terrors that were so violent that White would have to wake her almost violently in order to get her out of it. Her nightmares were only caused by the fears of the people. She closed her eyes. She bit her lip firmly. She didn't want to remember her current nightmare, the one that England actually woke her from when she started screaming the night before, which as why he was trying to make her forget about it by taking her to see the stars that night. But then she shook her head. She had to forget about her nightmares. She knew she would sleep well that night, only because her people had peace of mind with the supplies that England had dropped off for her. Roanoke sighed softly. She looked up at England, hoping to convey to him what she had wanted.

"Don't be afraid…" Arthur said, "I'm here to protect you."

Arthur offered her his hand so she took it. He wiped away the tears from her eyes. He began leading her through her forest, despite the fact she knew it better than he did and the path he picked would take them ten minutes out of the way for them to get back to her home. She didn't mind. She actually liked having him with her so the more time it took for him to get them home and the more time she got to spend with him. It made her feel selfish and dark. She felt like she was trying to take up all of England's time. But she was never worth any of his time. She could work as hard as she could and never amount to any of England's other colonies. She knew he was starting to eye France's colony named Canada but had yet to have the ability to do anything about this desire of his. England was also starting to dominate the Caribbean and certain nations in a continent called Africa. England's power was spreading. But she was being forgotten.

* * *

><p>"England, England, England!"<p>

He was leaving that day. She didn't want him to go, to leave her alone with this undeniable loneliness. She wasn't strong enough to go ashore to America's land and the men of her colony refused to take her there because there weren't many colonists to trade with in America just yet. But he was heading to America, to check on her brother. He only stopped to visit her because she was on the way to America's house and his crew needed rest for the night. It was enough to make her wish she had an army big enough to take America on, to prove she was the better child, because she was stronger but she wasn't. She heard rustling in the trees behind her. She immediately froze. Her mind instantly went to the monsters that England had told her about the night before. They would eat her up and then she would never get her wish. A small fox crawled out of the brush.

"Oh, it's just you…" she told it, "Don't scare me like that!"

The fox sat down and stared at her, tilting its head to the side. She sighed to herself. She reached down and pet the fox. It wouldn't hurt her. Foxes liked her for some reason so she tended to take care of them like pets. John didn't like how she would play with the foxes around the island as if they were dogs. He said they were best for hunting. He actually killed one of the ones she had played with once. Roanoke had never forgiven him for it. She had refused to speak with him for an entire month. All of the colonists had done everything they could to make her like him again but she had yet to actually speak the words of forgiveness he longed to hear. She had taken to playing with the creatures as far away from the homes of the colonists. The other children didn't like to play with her. She didn't fit in with the men. She didn't fit in with the women. Even the elders find her strange, finding that she was terrifyingly wise and mature to the point where they knew she was older than they were which she was but that was besides the point. She started to walk through the forest.

"Well, nothing is going to get done by just sitting here…" she announced, "I have to find it before the monsters find me…"

* * *

><p>Hours passed as she tramped through the forest, searching for her target. The fox followed her quietly and peacefully. It was acting as her guide through the forest, though she knew the steps as well as the small fox did. Her eyes widened in surprise. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the glowing light. In front of her was a glowing light. Instantly she reached out to grab it but then it was gone. She frowned. She spun around. There was a light behind her this time. So she reached for it once more but then it was gone. A third light appeared out of the corner of her eye. This time she dove for it. But the light vanished and she hit the ground hard. She laid sprawled out on the ground she sniffled. Tears welled up in her eyes. She couldn't catch the stars. But then one landed one her hand. She looked at it immediately. Her heart fell when she realized it was only a firefly. She had come so far, trying to find a star to keep and to wish on, but she couldn't find even one star. She was led on a while goose chase by fireflies.<p>

"Roanoke? Roanoke, are you there?"

She looked up. England stood in the corner of the clearing with a lantern. He looked absolutely worried. She was surprised to see him looking at her like that. Slowly she pushed herself to her hands and knees. She was surprised to see him there. His crew was getting ready to set sail during the day. They were supposed to leave before sunset. That's why she went out into the forest, to find a star to wish on, just to ask England to stay just a little longer. She knew it wasn't fair to America but she desperately wanted some of Arthur's time. She just wanted to have just a moment longer of his time, even if it was only for a moment. It didn't seem so bad for her – just one moment. However, she still felt selfish. She felt like she was trying to ask too much of England while another part of her said she wasn't asking for enough. She was constantly at war with herself. She was doing everything in her power just for a moment longer.

"England?"

He set the lantern down once he got within two feet of her and then scooped her into his arms, hugging her tightly. She tensed in his arms but didn't move from her spot. She just blinked and stared over his shoulder, seeing the shadows of the trees around them and more fireflies. She honestly hadn't expected him to hug her so tightly, so protectively. It almost brought tears to her eyes. She sniffled thickly. The lantern made everything glow around them. She just felt so happy that he was there, the disappointment of having her 'stars' turning out to be fireflies, the inability to even get a single wish right or even the fact that she knew England wasn't going to be there to protect her from the end of her days as a colony that she saw. It would be a sad end for her but if she could see him smiling just one more time then she would be able to move on as she knew that she was going to have to.

"Roanoke," he breathed against her neck, "Are you injured? What are you doing out here? John said you had vanished and he couldn't find you!"

She just sat there in his arms. She couldn't even bring her arms around him to keep him close to her, despite how her mind screamed at her to do it. Her body still hadn't gotten over the shock of seeing him there for her when she knew he was supposed to be gone, off to visit America again. Her mind was moving too quickly for her body to keep up. She was just so surprised that he had even come to see her. She felt her bottom lip tremble as she was cradled in England's arms, as if for just a moment she was the most important thing in his world. She swallowed thickly. She pressed her forehead to his chest, listening to the way his heart beat under his chest. It wouldn't be long before hers stopped beating because winter was coming and White was leaving right when the people needed him the most. It was enough to make her sick.

"You have no idea how worried I was!" England scolded, "Are you hurt? Did someone make you come out here?"

He had let her go now. He hadn't realized she started crying yet. She sniffled, biting her knuckles to keep the sobs from escaping her lips. Her brows were knit tightly together as she felt her entire face screw up in pure agony. If she was feeling empty inside, Arthur was the one who always had a way to make that feeling go away. He had always been that type of person. As his colony, she felt like she had a superior existence, with no one to control her, where she could always do as she liked. England just wanted her to follow his rules, that was all and it really wasn't that much to ask from someone like her. He wanted devotion? She would gladly give it to him. Everything that he would have wanted she would have done if she had the power to do it. She would turn the world upside down if he asked for it. She would have reordered time for him. She would have done it all for him. She would be exhausted of living up to his expectations of her but that would only be to show how much she really loved him.

"Why would you go out alone at this time of night?" England demanded.

"I-I thought I c-could catch a star…" she hiccupped, "T-There was a wi-wish I wanted it to g-grant…"

"Roanoke…" England breathed.

He ran a hand through her hair with the sort of affection only a fatherly figure could have for a daughter figure like herself before pulling her close once more. This time his chin rested on the top of her head. She could feel him breathing almost calmly now. However, she could still feel his heart racing against his chest. Apparently, her disappearing trick had still scared him into the point where he was frantically searching for her. She frowned. She could picture him running across the woods trying to find her, even though he didn't know the trails as well as she did and could get completely lost easily. His arms were soft and warm around her. He was capable of crushing her like a bug in his arms, perhaps even with just a single hand if he wanted to, but he was treating her so gently and kindly. She could only hope that this meant that he loved her just as much as he loved her new little brother.

"Sweetie, the stars are far away, somewhere your hands cannot reach…" England explained.

"W-What about you?" Roanoke questioned, "Surely, you can reach them?"

Arthur chuckled at the very suggestion from his precious little colony. She was just so cute. He understood why other nations doted on their smaller colonies and territories. He knew she thought highly of him. It was the first time anyone thought that he was such an amazing person. If he told her to do something she would do it, to try and please him. Even if what he said was impossible, she would try to do it. She would do anything just to see him smile, even if it made her look like a fool. He was glad that his little colony appreciated him that much. It was good to have someone believe so much of him after so many centuries of being picked on by his brothers and the rest of Europe for that matter. Now he was the one closest to ruling the world.

"No," Arthur said, "Not even I could."

England was a god in her eyes. He was all powerful. He was all knowing. He was her entire world. She was surprised that there was something that that England couldn't do. England let go of her once more. He stood up and looked down at her, petting her hair gently, with the kindness and patience she felt only older nations seemed to carry. Not all older nations thought the same way. Spain and Native America had been rather mean to her as of late. They had constantly been picking on her. But right now, England was all that seemed to matter to her. There was a kindly smile on his face as he watched his young colony. She was just so sweet and naïve about how the world truly worked. He did everything in his power to make sure she was safe and protected. Though, even he knew there was going to be something he couldn't protect her from. She had to learn to stand on her own as a colony or else someone would step on her like they had to him.

"Roanoke, you don't need to catch a star…" Arthur said.

"You do not need to beg the stars," Arthur said, "I will make all of your wishes come true."

She looked up at him. He took her hand and gripped her hand tightly.

He was covered in more bandages. He was fighting a war against Spain, last she knew about. It was a change up from another war with France but a war was still a war. People got hurt. People died. Good people were caught in the crossfire and good men were sent off for their country to protect its wellbeing. She wondered if the thought even bothered England anymore to have his people dying for him._ 'Doesn't it hurt, England? Aren't you lonely?' _she thought to herself, though she desperately wanted to ask it aloud,_ 'Aren't you overdoing things? How can you smile when you're in so much pain? Or perhaps you've been hurting so long you forgot what pain was?' _She would have hated to have to go through as much as he did. She already fought hard to keep her colony going but it appeared that nothing was going well. Her people were worth every effort she put forth but he looked as if he were dying.

"Roanoke, is something wrong?" England asked, "Are you cold?"

Before she could even answer, he took off his coat and draped it over her, like any good English gentlemen would for a young lady. By the time he was done she was wrapped up tightly, to keep her warm from the chill of the night that was finally starting to sink into her skin. In some strange manner it had sunk into her very soul. She wondered if cold could do that. She considered asking England but she decided that she had asked him enough questions about strange things. He looked down and saw her palms were all torn up and her leg was scratched up as well. He took her hands in his, examining the small cuts on her flesh. He just examined them. He did not touch the wounds, perhaps out of fear of making her cry because of the pain. She looked up at him with teary eyes. Now that she knew she was injured her body finally caught up to the pain. It wasn't a terrible injury, nothing life threatening but even as a colony the sores stung.

"Do your wounds hurt?" he asked.

She didn't say. She wanted to ask him the same thing, but for a colony to ask a nation was like asking about how the war was going. She couldn't bring up his fight against Spain because he came to visit her and America to forget about his troubles. She didn't even realize she had scratched her cheek and tore up the dress that Mrs. White had sewn for her. The woman would be upset about her workmanship being ruined so soon after it was gifted but Patience could sew. She could restore the dress just as well as Mrs. White could sew it in the first place. She was, after all, much older than the human woman was. However, the dress was the very least of any of her concerns at the moment. She was too focused on the white bandages that disappeared up England's white button-up shirt and under the collar of his shirt.

"Come on, looks like I will have to carry you," Arthur said.

He gathered her up in his arms and picked her up off the ground. England was wrong. She just didn't know what to do. She wanted to help England, in any way she could. But she was a child, just a colony. She couldn't do anything. All she could do was beg him and the stars for her wishes, but that was all it would ever be. She needed the star to listen to her wishes. She looked up at the stars, begging, praying for a star to wish on, for something to save herself, to save England, to do something. She chewed on her lip. Her tiny hands were tangled in England's clothes as she looked up at the sky. He was smiling down at her, glad to have found her. So he picked up the lantern and started back the way he came. He feared what could have happened had he not found her soon enough.

* * *

><p>England bolted up, sitting in his bed, panting heavily. Sweat clung to his forehead. He exhaled deeply. A painting had fallen down from across the room. He didn't have to look to see which one it was. It was the one of Roanoke that he had done the last time he saw her alive. He bit his lip, putting a hand on his forehead. The other nations tried to tell him it wasn't his fault that she had died but the guilt was eating him away. He had yet to even tell America or even Canada. They had no idea they had an older sister. She had been so young compared to other nations. They hadn't had a death as tragic as hers since Atlantis' death when her land disappeared into the ocean. But England had been young back then. He didn't understand why Atlantis had died. He just knew that one day many of the older nations were talking about her disappearing.<p>

"A dream…" he muttered.


	5. Chapter IV: England's Guilt

England sighed. He looked out the window, seeing the ocean. The color blue was haunting him. It was just like the color of _her_ eyes. He didn't even have the heart to start his sewing like he normally did. In fact, he had yet to start on any of his Christmas present that he normally gave out. His office attendants would have been disappointed if they didn't receive the gifts that they normally got every year. But of course, he had to sit through the meeting at America's house, in Virginia of all places. It was as if he hadn't hurt enough. Virginia was where he was when Roanoke died. If he had been there with her, then perhaps he could have done something to save her and her people. But he had to be off fighting with Spain when she needed him the most. He would never forgive the Spaniard, no matter how many times he apologized for it, only after he noticed what he had done.

"What's wrong?" America asked.

England looked up at him, surprised. America had broken off of some speech about superheroes, Tony, marshmallows, terrorists, whales, burgers and something about global warming. England had just gotten the gist of it within the first minute of America opening his mouth so he assumed it would be safe to tune it all out and forget about it for a while, or at least until he was done speaking. Now all the nations were looking at him. It was true that England hadn't been focused. Normally, he would have stopped America in his rambles and perhaps even started up a fight. But England hadn't said a word. Germany had to step in and yell at America for his mindless chatter. Granted, Germany always stepped in once England got involved in an argument because if he didn't there was normally property damage. No one could afford property damage at the moment. He took a deep breath and then took a sip of his tea. He was trying his best to look as bored as possible.

"Nothing," he lied.

"Then why… are you making that awful face?" America pressed.

England tensed. He hadn't realized that he looked at him like he was going to cry. He couldn't help it. It was the day that Roanoke died. So he was a sentimental old fool, he was old enough to have deserved the right to a few days of remorse a year, wasn't he? England might just have been the most controlling and hypocritical Empire there ever was. Though many would refute that, particularly Greece when he spoke of Ottoman Empire or when the World remembered Rome and Germania. He was difficult to read and work with. So England's views were strong and he was stubborn and determined in keeping the old traditional ways of doing things. No one could deny he was quick to anger, with a fierce way of paying back what he felt was due. No one forgot he held a scathing tongue that would make a person feel as small as an immature child when he was done with them.

"It's probably because of all the bloody nonsense you seem to keep spewing out of the thing you call a mouth," England retorted.

"Whoa, bro, calm down!" America said.

He held up his hands as a sign of peace. England felt anything but peaceful. He wanted to bash America's face in until it was bleeding. Memories assaulted him of his days as an Empire. He could do it. He still had strength to back him up, but then again, America had strength too, part of his strength and power. America could fight back. It would only cause problems if England assaulted America. His boss for one wouldn't be too happy about getting sent the hospital bills by America's boss. England then wouldn't be able to go out and drink his sorrows away that night later on if he was getting chewed out by his boss, which would only put him in an even fouler mood later on. That would cause more trouble than anyone needed. He glowered at America. He didn't need to talk about Roanoke anymore. History was history, as they said.

"Shut the hell up, you tosser! You don't know anything!"

Or not.

England actually got up and walked out of the meeting, surprising a lot of the nations. The last time England left a meeting was when Germany started bombing him during the World War. Only France clucked his tongue in disapproval for what America had done. America looked over at France, wondering what the 'love nation' was going to say. It was probably something that would make America hit him anyways. Russia already looked ready to pull his pipe out of his coat pocket. America wondered how he managed to bring that in there every single time, when they were supposed to give up weapons at the door, to prevent deadly fighting between nations. Well, not so much deadly as it was devastating for the people.

"You know nozing," France said darkly, "Angleterre, suffered much more zan you zink."

America frowned. He tilted his head to the side and looked out the window, just where England was looking. Perhaps he could figure out what it was that England saw but then he shook his head. He couldn't see anything except the ocean, rolling by like it normally did. There was nothing remotely interesting with the ocean. It was just blue waves that had been as easily conquered as Space. America wasn't sure if England was simply reminiscing about the days when he owned the seas or of it was something else that was making him stare at the ocean with so much remorse. Then America looked back to the other nations. He sighed. The blond nation ran a hand through his hair. His meeting had been a bust. He was just glad it was a few days conference. He could get them to see what he was talking about the next day.

"Why don't we call it a day?" America asked, "I think the jetlag is starting to kick in for some of you."

And it was. Greece had been asleep since the start of the meeting, as was expected of him. He normally was only awake currently when his country was rebelling, which at the moment they were but jetlag had caught up. Turkey had to be held back since he had wanted to draw on the other man's face. Japan was rubbing his eyes, fighting to keep his head up, nodding his head slowly to whatever anyone said with a sleepy frown that had made some of the female nations giggle and swoon, as if he were trying on purpose to be extremely cute. Northern Italy and Southern Italy were now taking a siesta, using each other like pillows, though Romano would deny it to his death if anyone ever happened to question it, even with the pictures that Hungary snapped devilishly, despite the fact that Italy was holding Germany's hand tightly to the point where the other nation couldn't free his hand. Even Germany was fighting back yawns.

"We'll meet up tomorrow," America said, "Go get some rest, guys!"

He started heading to the door before anyone could protest. To his surprise someone bumped into him on the way. America stared at the man blankly. He couldn't figure out who it was that was standing in front of him. The polar bear in his arms meant nothing to help identify the man at all. It was confusing to say the least. The man had to be a nation, like everyone else in the room, or the building for that matter. Otherwise he would not have been at the meeting. However, the name of the country he represented completely and totally escaped his mind as he stared at the other with what could only be labeled as 'Alfred's thinking face'. It was sad to see that America had to force his mind to recall who the man was. The other man sighed sadly, bowing his head. A single curl bobbed sadly as he did so. Alfred could almost see the dejected slump of his shoulders, so he desperately scrambled for a name or nickname to call the other so he would at least sound like he was familiar with the other, even though America could swear this was the first time he had ever seen the other nation, not that he knew it but he had met the other on more several occasions.

"Um… Sorry… er, dude."

"Canada…" the other sighed.

"Right, I knew that," America said, "I was just testing you, broski!"

Canada sighed. America didn't know it was him. He was just trying to cover for himself once again. No one ever remembered him, not even when he got that tattoo on his head, which was clearly a maple leaf that was until he got home. America had stuck an American flag on his forehead. That only made Cuba attack him that day and then try to make it up to him by giving him ice cream, which he then threw down Canada's shirt because he once again mistook him for America. It really sucked to have America as an older brother. The poor Canadian hugged his polar bear tighter to his chest. Life was really quite cruel sometimes. He tried to be the good brother. He tried to be the peace keeper. All that ever got him was a boot to the face and a good beating. No one ever remembered him because of how awful America was. They always treated him like he was the public enemy number one but he was actually the nicer of the two of them.

"May we please go check on England?" Canada asked.

"Dude, I'm gonna check on Iggy, you comin'?" America asked.

America was already walking ahead of him. Canada sighed. He was ignored again. But America really needed to learn to slow down and think things through. What if England didn't want to be found? What if he was absolutely livid and still needed some time to calm down and think? What if England had gone home? What if he were flying back right now? It wouldn't be the first time a nation left the meeting early and it most certainly wouldn't be the last time anyone ditched. There was one time when Canada decided not to go and went over to Lars' place to smoke some pot. That was a good day. At least Lars remembered who he was that day. Still, he followed after the other nation, intent on figuring out what happened to make England so upset. There were times his brother acted like the most obnoxious, ignorant fool in the world. America wanted to be involved in everything, the center of attention and love. Even, his views on how to solve all the problems in the world were warped, but he tried. Nobody could say otherwise, but if you did, they would be surprised to find he was just as scary as a snapped Russia when angered.

* * *

><p>America and Canada split up to find Arthur. Luckily, Canada found him first. England and Canada still had a good relationship. Canada wasn't the one to leave through means of a bloody revolution and a second revolt that led to the War of 1812. Matthew smirked. Alfred still freaked out every time that Matthew brought out a lighter to play with whenever he visited Washington D.C. Granted Alfred did the same thing whenever he visited York. But he had stopped that after Matthew challenged him to a game of hockey and practically stomped him into the ice. Matthew won their wager and Alfred forgot who he was the rest of the time when he could make the wager to defeat Matthew at anything else. Though, Canada swore to never participate in an eating contest against America. He would happily create a betting pool, play down his brother's appetite and then win some money off of whoever bet against Alfred. He had done it once before when Alfred stole his wallet and spent all of his money on booze at the bars. He needed money the following morning to pay his hotel bill, so he used alternative means to pay. He had the money the next morning, though several men were sore they lost so much money.<p>

"England."

"Hm?"

England snapped out of his daze to see Canada hovering over him, looking amused. He sat down on the bench next to England. He was out in the garden, looking over the sea once again. Canada knew the problems came from something about the ocean but he didn't know exactly what it was that was upsetting England. Perhaps he was just feeling nostalgic, remembering his privateer days. Matthew always did love his stories about being a pirate. Alfred didn't like them as a child. He wanted to hear new stories every single time he went to bed. No wonder he never remembered them. He never actually bothered to pay attention to the important historical details. It was always about swashbuckling heroes, damsels in distress and dragons for Alfred. Matthew liked something a little more realistic, though dragons could have been real for all he knew. Arthur only ever got a mysterious smile on his face when asked about the mythical creatures and said they were there and then started to talk to Flying Mint Bunny, but that was beside the point.

"Penny for your thoughts," Canada said.

"Oh…they aren't worth a penny," England replied vaguely.

He looked back to the sea with a heartbroken expression on his face. Canada frowned. He could see his friend's turmoil, his pain, sorrow, and regret, but it was all pushed behind a stoic mask of uncaring. But he wanted a reaction, a sign that England was still England. He wanted to see some of his old friend and paternal figure back. England had always been strong. There were very few times he had seen England look so broken. This was one of them. Canada put a hand on England's hand to comfort him. England looked back up now at Canada, almost startled that Canada was still there, still trying to talk to him about his issues.

"Come on, you clearly have something on your mind," Canada said.

"It's nothing," he said, "Really."

"I don't believe you," Canada said.

"Nothing's wrong," England insisted.

Canada sighed in exasperation. Of course England was refusing to tell him anything, because he was always like that. He was more of a self-sacrificing nation than America was sometimes. He had tried as hard as he could to keep his emotions tied in but Canada knew him better than that. A few hundred years of being friends was all that Canada needed to know England's quirks and mannerisms as well as he did. However, England grimaced and shifted in his seat. He was tempted to just get up, say he had other things to do, which he really did. The look Canada was giving him was enough to bring back the live snakes in his stomach. It would have been enough to bring him to his knees had he been standing. A few other nations had given him that look but very few times had it ever emotionally affected him, the normally calm and rational England, drinks aside.

"If it didn't matter, you wouldn't be thinking about it," he reasoned.

"I… I've been hiding something from you and Alfred…" Arthur admitted.

Canada blinked in surprise. He knew he was staring at England with horrific wide eyes. As far as he knew, England had always told them everything as children. He never kept secrets. He told them that history was important. He always said that they needed to know everything that there was to know. He never spared them any details. He gave them some of the most horrific stories, word for word, because he had to as their parental nation. France most certainly didn't introduce Canada to too many horrific things, so England had taken up this duty after he had taken Canada from France, in respect to Canada's culture and heritage. And naturally America had to show up at exactly that time, as soon as Canada opened his mouth to question what it was that England was hiding from them. He nearly slapped his southern half.

"Hey, there you are!" America cried loudly, "Why'd ya take off like that?"

"Alfred, Matthew, why don't you follow me? I've got something to show you."


	6. Chapter V: A Family Reunion

America touched the tree that England had pointed out to him. It had the word Cro etched into it. A post nearby had the word Croatoan cut into it. Matthew and Kumajirou were standing over by the post with solemn expressions on their faces. Canada examined the tree as well before observing the post. This was one of the symbols left behind by his apparent older sister. She was, after all, a colony just when he was being discovered. He bowed his head. Nantucket brushed against the wood of the tree. Someone had been there to re-carve the wood recently, to ensure that the mark lasted. America assumed England was the one who did it. However, after recalling how poorly England did with woodwork, remembering the toy soldiers that nearly broke England's hands, America then assumed he might have attempted 'magic' instead. Canada actually believed that England might have used magic to keep the carvings there. The tree could have healed and the post would have rotted and yet they were still there.

"That was her handwriting…" England said.

"I can't believe it… England, why'd you hide this from me? From us?" Alfred asked, "Mattie and I deserved to know…"

He couldn't continue but it was still there. He and Canada deserved to know they had a big sister, another sibling amongst many of the nations that England had sort of forcibly adopted over the years, some with more ease than others. America was one of the easier ones who decided to become difficult but that was beside the point. They deserved to know how she died. They deserved so much from England and yet the man refused to give it to them. He had hidden so much from them. Many nations hid things from Alfred and Matthew since they were technically younger but not the youngest nations out there. They were still relatively innocent when it came to certain matters. On other matters they were much darker. There wasn't a single nation who didn't feel that they had to hide the skeletons in their closets, despite how the text books were a screaming autobiography for the things they had done and the things that people had done under their names.

"I… I came with White, to come and look for her," England admitted.

America looked up at England, dreading the words that would come out of England's mouth. England could see the horror of finding a dead nation as if it were yesterday. Nightmares had plagued him for years after that and he had always been afraid of seeing something like it again, especially once the World Wars rolled around. He didn't want something like that happening to Belgium, his friend and ally, or even that Frog France, though he would never say it to the nation's face. He did enjoy his arguments with the French bastard. He was at least decent enough with the other nations. He would be upset if something happened to them, even to America, though there were times where he was downright intolerable. The bloody twat thought he was one of the best nations the world had ever seen but since his government had been spending more and more, America had realized that he wasn't as great as he thought he was so he was going through a bit of an identity crisis at the moment.

"I found her… Curled up… She had the necklace I gave her in her hand…" England said softly, "So… I… buried her, outside of town so the men didn't see her. They didn't understand nations…"

America nodded. He understood what humans did when they saw signs of life. He had soldiers get killed over it in battles before, men who rushed into the line of fire because they thought they had seen civilians and wanted to save them. He had men risk everything for survivors of accidents, only to find that no one survived at all. Heck, during the clean up after the terrorist bombs on September 11th they had to put fake survivors into the wreckage in order to make sure the dogs didn't suffer from depression because they had been giving up hope. Canada just buried his face into Kumajirou. The bear didn't seem to mind at the moment but it was probably because it was asleep. He would wake up and ask for fish later. Matthew was fighting back tears because the death of another nation, no matter how small she would have remained, moved him. She was family but never got the chance to really live her life to the fullest. He had also seen what soldiers would do, how people coped to accidents and to death. Even the slightest sign of life was enough to spur his civilians on to any challenge that came their way all for the sake of another life.

"They just would have thought she was a survivor they were too late for and it would have given them hope for the others… But I knew…"

England was crying now. America and Canada exchanged looks. The Northern brother pulled a kerchief out of his pocket. He handed it to his father figure and the man took it, nodding his thanks. He wiped his face off and cleaned the muck off that had dribbled as he tried to reel in his emotions. England regretted his choices. He wished there had been something he could have done. It was partially Spain's fault, but it was his own as well because he had neglected her, he had abandoned her in her hour of need, even though he had battles to be fought. He should have told America about her. The two of them could have helped each other through the tough times. Though when it would come to the Revolution, England knew she might have sided with Alfred in the end. But it would have been better to have lost the both of them than to have lost her in the most violent ways. At least America was still alive. He would have protected her during the war had she been fighting too, Arthur knew this.

"She was gone and I never… I never got to apologize to her…"

"_Arthur?"_

A figure stood in front of the three men. It was a girl, very young, very pretty. A wavering hand rose up to fix a piece of her hair that was out of place. She tucked it behind her ear, a miniscule smile curving his lips slightly – a real smile. She was wearing a simple faded blue gown that looked to be made of cotton. Alfred hadn't seen the likes of her dress since he was a little colony. It had been a good couple hundred years at least, or at least unless he was looking at historical recreations that the History channels had decided to put on. Alfred didn't really like watching it though because it reminded him too much of some of the mistakes he made. It called him out on things he did or was forced to do by the government that sometimes, he didn't always agree with but because the government called the shots, he had to do it. Matthew gasped because she looked as transparent as he felt sometimes. She smiled at them with a look on her face that was too old for someone her age. She tilted her head to the side as she beamed a million watt smile.

"_You came,"_ she said, _"Even though, you're about to break. That's a good sign."_

"Patience…" Arthur whispered.

She smiled as brightly as the sun itself. Had she a heart that still beat, it might have been fluttering in excitement. He had finally used her human name, after so many years. This was going to be his first and last time to do so. She had waited so long to hear her human name roll off his lips. The use of her name was bittersweet. She was delighted that he finally used it, let alone remembered her human name. Though, she was sad because this was his only chance to use her human name. But the sadness was well masked through her happily delightful smile. He took a step towards the little girl. He tried to touch her cheek but his hand passed right through her. She smiled at him sadly. He wouldn't be able to touch her. He had that chance when he found her. He was lucky enough to get to see her one last time. She had been holding on as long as she could before she would cross over. Many nations were waiting for her too.

"_But __why__ are you here?"_

"I… want to be forgiven…" Arthur croaked, "Roanoke… Patience… I'm such a bloody git for not listening to you earlier."

Roanoke frowned as Arthur fell to his knees before her, weakened by the shock and his own obvious guilt because of what happened. Apparently, she had not wanted to see her 'father' like this before her. She didn't hate him for her death. She knew what was going to happen, even if England and the rest of the world didn't. It would be the secret she would take to the grave. She took a step towards England, passing right through America. America paled and shivered as she moved through him. It felt like he had been doused in freezing cold water straight from the coldest part of the Arctic Ocean. She paused and turned to face the super power with a curious look on her face. Then she smiled at him as well. Her eyes lit up as she took in the sight of both America and Canada in front of her. She looked happy to see them, though she had never a chance to see them before that moment.

"A-Are you-?"

"_Roanoke…? Yes, and you must be America… And Canada…"_

Both boys blinked when she heard them using their names. England must have told her about them. She didn't seem to mind that Alfred was afraid of her. He was terrified of ghosts and she only proved a million stories true by being there. He was never watching Ghost Hunters again. He wasn't going to be able to sleep for weeks. Tony was going to make fun of him because of this but now he had proof! He had seen a ghost for real this time! However, his thoughts disappeared when Roanoke giggled, a hand covering her mouth as she looked up at America and Canada in amusement, like that of an older sister. Both of the brothers would have loved to have seen her as an adult, but she would never reach that age. She was forever immortalized as a young little girl. Now, her laughter had reminded Alfred of a child, innocent, young and pure. Roanoke had seen a lot of suffering. It truly amazed America that she could continue on after such a traumatic experience. There were times where he simply didn't want to smile.

"_England used to tell me all about you, at least America. He didn't quite adopt you yet before I passed, I'm afraid, Canada…"_

She sighed. How much sorrow can one being bear? It was as though something pervasive and tangible lies within his body, burdening his every movement with a sense of finality. She could see his vision was blurring with unshed tears. She frowned sadly as she looked over at England. The questions in his head clamored and muttered, begging for attention, until he had no choice but to clap his hands over his ears and shake his head frantically, trying to rid himself of them. Why was she there? She was there to see him. Was she always there? Yes, she had always been there waiting for him. How long had she been waiting for him to finally visit her? Since the day she died. Was she still lingering because she had unfinished business with him? She did have unfinished business with him but only because she wanted to see him one last time. Was she angry with him? She could never be angry with him. Did she hate him? She would rather die again than say that she hated him.

"_I would have liked to have met you at one point but I was just… not fit for being a nation, I guess…" _

"That's not true, love!" England protested.

Roanoke smiled almost bitterly at England's outburst. She seemed to disagree with him on the matter. She reached towards England and touched his cheek, stopping when her transparent flesh touched his warm skin. Her touch felt like he was having snow held to his face but he didn't pull back. He was surprise that Patience had somehow grazed a hand upon his cheek. He felt his arm lifting of its own accord. The three nations were staring at her. She was seemingly unable to choose what to do next with someone so vulnerable beside her. She was about to pull her hand back when England's hand went through hers. The look on his face was one of pure devastation. He must have hoped that she was actually there, actually alive to be around. She sighed as if she were the older one than he was. She gave him a strange look that Canada had seen exasperated mothers give their children. She must have been truly weathered by the lifestyle she had.

"_Oh, England, you've been beating yourself up about this for centuries…"_ she whispered,_ "Dilly dally, shilly shally…"_

A confused expression crossed the once great nation's face. He didn't know what she was talking about, yet America did. It was uncommon in his lands but a few of his people used the phrase. It was kind of like people saying groovy. It happened but it was really weird if someone said it. It was like when you said something awkward and your good friend playfully shoved you to the ground. Either that or they just looked at you with an exasperated look on their face that just said, 'no, don't you dare ever say something like that again'. It was sometimes fun to receive those looks, especially amongst good friends, most of which America had right now were human. It would be hard to see them go, but that pain seemed bearable when compared to losing a sibling. Alfred didn't know what to do. He looked over at Canada. Okay, so he forgot who the guy was from time to time, but he really couldn't imagine life without his brother or any of the other nations of the world. It didn't matter that he never really got to meet her. Patience was a nation, weak one or not.

"Huh?"

"_Dilly dally, shilly shally…"_

"It means move on," America supplied.

England swallowed thickly. Of course America would know a strange phrase like that. He always seemed to know strange things. However, England knew that he had to move on. He had been trying for the last century or so. Time just seemed to blur together making it hard to think sometimes. There was always a little truth behind every just kidding', a little knowledge behind every 'I don't know', a little emotion behind every 'I don't care', and a little pain behind every 'It's okay.' Other nations knew how much the event tormented him unto his almost every waking moment. France, strangely enough, had been the most sympathetic during the ordeal. Spain was even all apologies when he heard about what had happened, saying he would have held off his soldiers, if only for a few days had he known, how he should have convinced the armies that it was a bad idea, that they needed to hold off, prepare if just for a little bit longer. It was only through the gift of hindsight that the Spaniard could say those sorts of things but the thought was enough to bring England some comfort.

"_I never blamed you, England,"_ she said, _"Not once. So isn't it time you did the forgiving?"_

"But you begged me to refuse to allow my colonists to go to your land," England protested.

Roanoke shook her head in disagreement. She wanted to scold England for not listening to her once again but then that would ruin the moment. She had centuries to come to peace with herself. She was not a lingering spirit because she was angry and wanted revenge. She just wanted to see her family, one last time before she moved on. That was all she wanted. It was such a simple thing, rather selfish actually, because she knew how much this hurt her father and perhaps even her brothers by seeing her in a position where nothing they did could help her. She was beyond saving. She was centuries beyond their help. No one could help the dead once they were dead. She had been stuck in limbo long enough to know this.

"_I was dying when you sent your colonists there. I knew it. I wasn't going to last whether you decide to send them or not. I just didn't want anyone to die."_

"I could have saved you," England protested.

"_You had your hands full,"_ Roanoke digressed, _"You had America and Canada after I was gone… And I was just in the way. The Spanish didn't help either."_

England shook his head this time, wanting to disagree but it was true. He had been so involved with Alfred and Matthew that he had pushed himself into their lives, not to repeat his mistake with her, by letting her do what she wanted to and letting her make her own mistakes. France said it was because he didn't want to lose Matthew and Alfred either, and he didn't, so that one time, he agreed with the frog. Every time he came to visit her, he left America alone, which had been something he didn't like doing since sailing from her home, to America's had taken a lot of time, quadruple that when he was coming from his home instead. And later, he left little Canada alone. Both boys needed him. And by the time he had Canada under his wing, Roanoke was already gone. He put everything he had into raising the two boys to make up for his first failed child. Now Roanoke turned to her 'brothers' but she was focusing on Alfred. She smiled at them with the fondness only a sibling could have. The look in her eyes made America and Canada shift uncomfortably under her gaze.

"_I really did hate you, America…"_ Roanoke said, _"Because in the end, I wanted England to swoop in and save me but I knew he wouldn't, because he was with you."_

America felt something raw churning in his stomach. His eyes were wide. Canada had to grab him by his shoulder and keep him upright, because his knees almost buckled beneath his feet. Alfred wanted to throw up. The sickening realization poured over Alfred like hot candle-wax, seeping into his skin with poisonous venom. _He_ was the reason his sister was dead. England was taking care of America, not Roanoke. Arthur was with Alfred, not Patience. Yet the girl had waited for him for over a few centuries for her father figure to just visit her once, so she could pass on, wherever it was that fallen Nations vanished to. She had held on for so long. However, the girl did not look angry to match the passion of her words. In fact, she was still beaming at him, with a smile as bright as the sun itself. He did not deserve her forgiveness. It was cruel for her to even offer him said forgiveness. England deserved it more than anyone else did.

"_But I also wanted to thank you,"_ Roanoke said, _"England was never happier, except when he was talking about you."_

"I wish I got to meet you…" America told her truthfully.

Roanoke smiled up at him, as if she were trying to convey without words that she had felt the same way. Carefree giggles left her lips. She clapped her hands in delight, only once but she was trying to remain prim and proper the way Arthur had raised her to be, though the manners she possessed were no longer the popular manners that children or women had during the modern time. She was centuries behind the times, but out of many of the nations, she was pure and innocent in the aspects of war. She was what Arthur saw in America and Canada, but now America was seeing it in her. He could partly see why England wanted to protect him for so long as a caregiver and provider. A small smile tugged on his lips. Suddenly she stopped and stared at him. Her innocent green eyes were staring into his sea blue ones. She wasn't smiling anymore. Now she reached up and touched his face. Out of all of his 'sons and 'daughters' Patience looked the most like his States. She had the blond hair but bright green eyes, just like England's.

"_But that's why I'm here now. I didn't cross over yet, because I wanted to meet my family, one last time…"_

"Do-Does this mean you'll p-pass over now?" Canada asked.

Roanoke smiled at the nations in front of her, a simply smile with liberal dashes of mischievousness added to it as well as a certain sort of contentment that the three nations only saw on the faces of humans. She put a single finger to her lips and winked. Apparently she wasn't going to tell them what was going to happen to her, perhaps it was for the best because it might just drive Arthur up a wall if he didn't know what was going to become of the young nation. She stepped forward and stood up on her tip-toes. Alfred leaned down, wondering if she wanted to whisper something to him. Instead, she had kissed Alfred on the cheek. He shivered. It felt like he was kissed by ice. Matthew knelt down so she didn't have to lean up to reach him. He didn't mind his kiss on the cheek. He was used to the cold but it was slightly colder than what he was used to. Arthur frowned. No pain could be deeper than the gashes he felt in his heart.

"_It's going to be okay, now, for all of you… Because you have each other…"_

England laughed, nearly hysterically he might add, though he would never say it aloud, especially in front of Alfred of all nations, despite himself. As crazy as it may seem, the conversation was actually helping him get over the pain that he had bore for years. She reached for England. The man knelt down. She kissed him on the brow. Unable to resist, he wrapped his arms around the younger ghostly girl. It was all either of them needed to reassure themselves that it was really happening. Though, it didn't hurt to hear the words either. Slowly she pulled away from her father figure. She stepped back. England reached towards her but she stepped back again. Slowly she started to vanish out of sight. The disappearance started at her feet and started to head up her body. America and Canada couldn't do anything as Arthur cried. The large superpower wracked his mind for something he could do. She was his 'sister' for crying out loud!

Then his eyes widened as he stared at the young former nation. An idea struck him so firmly upon the head that he nearly collapsed. He actually had to grab onto Canadia at his side to keep from falling over in an un-heroic fashion Fumbling with his own excitement he reached into his well worn bomber jacket and pulled out his cell phone. His fingers trembled with excitement as he punched in the number for his current boss. Sure, it was a touch late, but this was important, god damn it! Sure, it would take a lot of tax dollars that the civilians would have to pay for, his boss would be pissed and Congress might just cut his personal salary as Alfred, but it was completely and totally worth every penny. England would be happy, Patience would get to live and he would be the hero. His plan was foolproof.

"_America?"_ the voice (his boss) croaked.

"Yo, broski, I've got a proposition for ya and I ain't takin' no for an answer!"


	7. Epilogue

Canada looked out the window. He was scared now. What happened to Roanoke could very well happen to him someday. She was just forgotten and left to fend for herself so she died. Granted, he was a much larger nation than she had been and had more people than she could ever have hoped to house but the thought remained. She had been forgotten. He had been forgotten more often than not. He was sitting in a café outside of Vancouver. Snow flitted down outside. It was the first snow of the year. It had always been something he looked forward to but right now, it just seemed to put him into an even dourer mood than he had been before. Would anyone care like England had if he had just vanished one day? Would anyone notice the empty chair at the meetings? No, they forgot him a lot when that happened. Russia _sat_ on him and no one noticed. They most certainly wouldn't notice that they would be setting out a chair for a nation that would never be coming.

He sighed and looked back from the window. An older woman was sitting across the table from him. She was looking out the window but when she caught him looking at her she turned to face him, before smiling. His eyes widened. She was older, more mature, with bright blond hair and emerald green eyes that he knew the instant that he meat them. She wore a simple brown jacket and a red hand-knit hat, one of the ones England loved knitting in his spare time as well as a matching red scarf. He could feel boots, near his but not touching. His heart trembled in his chest as she flashed a smile of bright pearly whites. A waitress walked over to their table. Matthew was too surprised to say anything but Patience ordered for the both of them, sending the waitress off with their orders. Matthew was sure he looked like a gaping fish at this point, but Patience didn't seem to care. She even laughed.

"R-Roanoke?" he croaked.

Roanoke reached across the table. She took his hand in hers, squeezing tightly but not enough to hurt him, just to assure him that she really was there. However, this gesture sent Matthew's mind reeling. He had been positive she had faded out of existence. He had been there, but no one really saw him, again. The pad of her thumb brushed across the back of his hand. She felt very real, very solid, as if she were really alive. He blinked almost owlishly, uncertain as to what to do now that the woman was in front of him, though he did wonder if he was entitled to the wish of never being alone after everything that had happened in his life. He wanted to believe that she would make sure he wasn't alone but she was already gone. She passed on. He licked his lips and glanced around. He wondered if America wasn't playing some practical joke on him. It wouldn't surprise him if he had hired some professional actress to play the part of their sister and prank him. Patience was wearing common clothes after all – hand designed from California.

"Are you actually here?" he whispered.

"Yes, I'm here. Alfred sent me over to keep you company until the next World meeting," Patience said, "But, it's great to see you, Matthew!"

Matthew might have said the same. It was good to see her after all, but his mind was still in shock at seeing her so differently. She looked as old as he was. A dazzling smile on her face, the kind gestures she was using, it was all that of someone who was seeing an old friend for the first time in a few years. She looked like she could pass for his sister. She had blonde hair like he and America did but England's green eyes. Did England know she was okay? Did America have a part to play in this? Was this why America called his boss with his 'clever little plan' that was completely 'heroic'? Canada had been too busy trying to console England to really listen to America blather and barter with his boss. His mouth went dry. His breathing became a little heavier. If America thought he was being funny, he wasn't. This was cruel. He was just waiting for America to burst out of nowhere and laugh at him, telling him it was all just some big joke and that he hired an actress to do this for him.

"B-But h-how-?"

"Humans are the most amazing creatures I know," Patience said, "Alfred called in a favor his boss owed him. He's not getting a birthday party as extravagant as he normally likes to have it…"

The waitress came back with their drinks. Patience smiled at the waitress, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if she were not centuries behind the time period. After the woman left, she pulled out a small bottle of maple syrup from her coat pocket – his favorite brand, not the fake brands that America insisted were real like Betty Crocker. She added it to Matthew's coffee before pushing it in his direction. He swallowed thickly. No one else remembered he liked to have maple in his coffee. He took a sip and his eyes widened. It was his preferred type, down to the very last drop. He had to fight back the reflex to choke on his drink. He wanted to ask how she knew it, along with millions of other questions but his mind was moving as quickly as the maple syrup poured out of the bottle.

"But Alfred has people living on my lands now. I'm not a nation, but I still represent the land. But there's no need for a government there, so Alfred has me as one of his assistants."

"That… was actually a brilliant move," Matthew muttered.

Patience smiled at him. She nibbled on her scone. She hadn't had scones in centuries. Actually, it was her first real meal. She knew that when she would go to visit England he would demand that he make her dinner. He had been ecstatic when he found out what America did. He had sobbed over the screen of what Alfred called a computer. He had wanted to take the first plane to the United States to see her but she decided to tell him to meet her with Canada instead. England was in the process of booking himself a flight. Francis was even coming, because England was in a charitable mood. Patience just felt that it was that France had done something to Arthur to make him agree, perhaps something embarrassing that she really did not want to know about. She heard enough horror stories about France as a little girl. So she would tell Matthew about his visitors later. Right now, she wanted to get to know her littlest brother. She was found before America, at least by England, making her older than him, and Canada was younger than America, so she was older than Canada, at least when it came to being founded as nations, though she never received the title. She was only around because America saved her.

She owed America her life. He just shrugged it off, pretending as if he didn't do anything but it meant the world to her. He had given her a second chance when she had sat by and idly accepted what was going to become of her. It was enough to make her want to sing his praises for what he did. In fact, she could hear his national anthem ringing through her ears. She shook her head. England would have a hissy fit if he knew that was all it took to save her. But America had done it first. He even set aside the lands where her people died and made it a historical landmark. People would dress up and pretend to have lived in that time period for historical purposes, for tourists but Patience didn't care. She was alive. She had never been so happy to be alive. Hundreds of years ago, if someone told her that America was going to save her life and she would be grateful for it, she would have laughed bitterly and told them that there was nothing anyone could do. It seemed that Mother Earth had a very funny sense of irony. She hadn't let Patience pass on but she didn't let her live either. Patience lived in limbo for centuries, waiting for something to happen.

"He did suggest changing my name," Patience mused.

She stared down at her cup of tea. She rather liked her name. She had been given it by her settlers from England, so basically, indirectly from England himself. But it was still a part of who she was. She didn't want to give that up. She had already given up so much and she wanted to maintain a part of herself. By having America's people on her lands, she was no longer her own representation of Roanoke. She was a part of one of his States – his children. The idea nearly killed her. She was a part of his children though she was older than he was. She no longer had power over her people. She had to report to America. While she was okay with that, it would never give her the chance to spread her wings as her own nation. She was still just a territory after all these years after all. But if it was what she had to do, she could always make Patience her middle name. She also had to take up a surname. Maybe she should take up White in honor of John or maybe Dare in honor of the baby Virginia Dare who had died. Patience White…? Patience Dare…?

"Patience is slightly outdated," she admitted, "What do you think, Matt?"

He frowned. He never had to deal with that sort of thing. Matthew was one of those names that had yet to get old. It had its moments where it wasn't popular but he still managed to maintain his name's validity. Alfred had to deal with how his name was older and Arthur did too. Gilbert was most certainly an older name. But some of the nations didn't care. Gilbert wouldn't change his name no matter how much you paid him because Gilbert was 'Awesome'. Alfred had modernized by going by Al, though he would punch someone if they called him Fred or Freddie. It was actually pretty funny once, but it wasn't funny when Russia called him that during the Cold War and America was about ready to cut his throat out for it. America was crazy during the Cold War but then again so was Russia. They were both ready to kill one another.

"Whatever you feel like doing," Matthew said.

Patience smiled at her brother. She had a feeling Matthew would say something like that but just in hearing what he said gave her the courage to make her decision. Canada was what she needed in her life as an unbiased third party. England would want her to act how he raised her, and she would but she would like to modernize as well. Canada and America could give her the crash course on that. America already showed her how to use a cell phone, which she now had in a purse New York and Pennsylvania bought for her, as a welcome to the family present, with dozens of other gadgets in her purse like an ipod and other things in her travel bag next to her. They gave her 'gift cards' to buy clothes once she went across the border so she didn't have to have a suitcase on the plane. America laughed at her expression as he dropped her off at the terminal and sent her on her way. She fit right in because people just thought it was her first time flying, which it was but she was fascinated by everything.

"I'll keep my name. It's certainly original," she said, "So, care to show me around, brother?"

Matthew couldn't help the bright smile that crossed his face. He was so glad that America remembered him enough to send Roanoke up there to keep him company until the next World Meeting. What made it even better was that she remembered him! He could show her so much about his lands. The thoughts made him giddy because no one else ever paid attention to him so he never got to talk about himself except to Kumakichi. But even Kumatata didn't pay attention to him sometimes, let alone remember him, let alone his name. But Kumajirou was his pet, so he had to take care of him because if he didn't have the polar bear he had no one. Now he had his sister to be by his side when she wasn't running errands for America, which he hoped wasn't going to be too often. The waitress stopped by and Patience pulled out money to pay for both of their drinks. Matthew was smiling from ear to ear. He was spending the day with his sister.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, I am a sucker for a happy ending so naturally, everyone gets some love. I felt like Canada had been neglected in the last chapter. <strong>

**So anyone like how America saved the day?**

**10 out of 10 doctors agree that reviewing leads to a longer life. So what are you waiting for?**


End file.
